Wandering Rivers of Red
by FieldOfPaperFlowers
Summary: A collection of Jane/Lisbon drabbles/one-shots. Some short and most, if not all, pretty much pointless, hence the title, but still fun to write anyways. There might be hints of Van Pelt/Rigsby. ABANDONED
1. Life Without Jane

A/N: Boredom! Boredom = fun with drabbles. It's kind of funny, actually; when I had first begun writing fanfics, I basically promised myself, NO DRABBLES. Rarely are they well written. Yet here I am, writing an entire set of them. Joy. This one is set after _Red John's Footsteps_. Surprise.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist, its characters, and anything else. I mean, really? The Mentalist would be an epic fail if I owned it. But on the bright side, Jane & Lisbon would've kissed already. :-)

R&R, please! I will update even if you don't do so, but it will speed the process up tremendously!

THEMENTALISTDRABBLEFICBYFIELDOFPAPERFLOWERS

Teresa Lisbon sat at her desk, her eyes skimming like a broken record over the same line in the police report she was supposed to be reading. Her mind, however, was entirely opposed to that, and she was all too eager to answer the knock on her office door.

That is, until she saw Patrick Jane standing there.

She shuffled the papers together fixatedly, avoiding his gaze. He said nothing, and neither did she. Finally the report was as straight as she could possibly get it, and she couldn't evade conversation any longer.

"What?" she asked, her tone colder than she had meant for it to be.

Jane's blue eyes seemed to circumvent her green ones; he looked around her face, but not directly at it. "I…" he started, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Lisbon raised her eyebrows as she stood, her stance displaying a confidence she did not feel. "Well?"

Jane turned his head slightly to look out the window. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For what I said."

Lisbon's insides recoiled. Despite her perpetually collected façade, she had been wounded when Jane had spoken as harshly as he had. "You all but threatened me," she reminded him, keeping her tone somewhere between neutral and cold.

Jane finally met her gaze. "I was wrong," he told her frankly.

Lisbon cocked her head; she didn't often hear those words from him. Maybe this "confession" was the first step to his moving on from….no! Her thoughts were getting dangerous. She had to keep this strictly impartial. She spoke the first thing that came to her mind. "How do I know you won't do it again?" _Tell me anything, Jane; tell me you will, or tell me you won't, just get this over with…_

Jane walked towards her --- stumbled, more like. He seemed unsteady. She had the urge to reach out and hold him. No!

"I'll tell you," he said, his slightly teasing tone a relief. "But you have to tell me something first."

Lisbon narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Like what?"

"What would you have done if Hardy would've shot me?"

Lisbon reeled inside. Not a good question. "Um…" She hated stammering! "I don't know." A lie.

Jane searched her eyes, his lighting up after a second. "Liar!" he declared.

"Oh, please," Lisbon dismissed him.

"You know what you would do," Jane stated. "What would it be?"

Lisbon glared at him. "You're the psychic. You tell me."

Jane watched her intently for a moment. "Well, now, that's interesting," he said finally.

"What?" Lisbon sighed.

"I'm not picking up on anything."

"Really." She was pleased, though she kept it out of her tone. It was about time he couldn't just take a peek into her head on a whim.

"Ha!" He grinned and pointed at her. "You suppressed a smile. You _do_ know! And you're going to tell me."

Lisbon fixed him with another death look. "I'm not going to tell you. Leave, Jane. I have work to do."

"You weren't working on it when I got here, and you're not going to work on it if I leave," Jane stated freely. "_Come on_. You _know_ you want to tell me."

Lisbon sat back down and turned to her paperwork, letting her dark hair fall in front of her face like a curtain. "You're being childish. Go away."

Jane reluctantly turned to go, then paused. "I know what you would do," he said, his serious mood back in full force. "You would've been sad."

Though eager to get him out, Lisbon answered before she could stop herself. "Of course I would. We wouldn't close nearly so many cases without your so-called methods."

Jane clicked his tongue thoughtfully before responding. "I think there's more to it than that, though. I think you want me to stay alive for a more personal reason."

Lisbon froze inside but kept a cool head. "That's preposterous. Now _leave_." Jane was silent, and when Lisbon looked up to see if he had gone, she saw him studying her. "What?"

Jane's grave expression lightened a shade as his lips twitched into a half-smile. "Nothing, my dear Lisbon." A pause. "You're blushing," he pronounced.

Lisbon could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, dang it. "Never you mind," she muttered, looking back down to the paper again.

There was a small creak as Jane began to open the door. "Just so you know," he said quietly, for her ears only, "whenever you decide you want to talk about this feeling you're repressing, I'll be on the sofa. And then I'll tell you why I won't do it again." He smiled slightly, then left.

Teresa Lisbon went back to pretending to work.

At some point, she decided, she might take him up on that offer.


	2. A Homeschool Family

A/N: Yay! Another one! Same embarrassment applies. I spent less time on this one --- a _lot_ less time. It was loosely inspired by "A Homeschool Family" by Tim Hawkins. By the way, I LOVE blackberry jam. My mom makes it. We have blackberry bushes. Yum. Random!

Disclaimer: Ha. Good joke. I own nothing.

R&R, please! I spout out updates faster! :-)

PATRICKJANEISAMAZINGANDILOVEHISHAIR

"No, it's squared. If you multiply it times two, it comes out all wrong." Once again, Patrick Jane went over a simple math problem with his daughter Sarah.

"I don't get it," she sighed for the third time that morning.

"Maybe this homeschooling thing isn't the best idea you've had," Patrick's wife called from the kitchen, where she was preparing sandwiches for their noon picnic.

Patrick grinned blindingly at her. "I know what I'm doing."

His wife snorted. "Obviously. Bring your assignment to me, Sarah. I'll help you." She smirked at Patrick, but there was no malice in the expression.

Patrick sighed mock-despondently. "Aw, way to steal my limelight," he pouted.

"You have no idea what you're doing!" she exclaimed.

"I do too!" He grinned. "Besides, at least I won't get food on the paper," he teased, knowing that right then, some of the blackberry jelly would smudge onto the assignment.

"That's not funny," she called from the kitchen as she tried to wipe it off.

Jane unleashed another smile. "It is too," he insisted. "And besides, you love me for it, right, _Ter_-_e_-_sa_?"

The brunette CBI agent blushed as she didn't deny the charge.


	3. A Tractor Ride

A/N: Yay! Another one! Same embarrassment applies. This one's set during _Flame Red_. I spent less time on this one --- a lot less time.

Disclaimer: Oh, please. I own nothing. Seriously, I wouldn't have to borrow money for a cupcake cone-thing (delicious!) after school if I did.

R&R, please! I run on reviews! :-)

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

"Can I see your tractor?" Patrick Jane, allured by the rustic charm of the scarecrow, wanted the full experience of the farmer's life.

Mrs. Garcia looked a bit shell-shocked. "Um…sure?" she responded uncertainly.

Jane grinned childishly and raced off towards the barn.

Lisbon and Mrs. Garcia watched nearby as Jane gleefully drove the tractor across an empty field. Lisbon's eyes were calculating --- not in the same way Jane's tended to be, but more thoughtful. Familiarly appraising. This, of course, did not escape Jane's notice as he drove past.

Jane slowed the tractor to a stop in front of the two women. "Hey, Lisbon." She scrutinized his grin. "Come on, jump up," he invited, patting the extra space behind him on the seat.

"No, thank you," Lisbon asserted.

"You know you want to," Jane persisted, his grin unwavering. Lisbon's conviction was faltering, he could tell. "One ride, that's all," he wheedled.

Lisbon sighed. "Fine." She climbed up behind him, holding him around the waist nervously. She squeaked in surprise as he took off, but after adjusting to the speed, she relaxed a little.

Jane grinned as the wind blew his curly blonde hair and the sun warmed his arms where his sleeves were rolled up. Lisbon's considering eye took his obvious pleasure in. She subconsciously tightened her firm clasp around him, as though she could hold onto this moment forever. This was the side of Jane she loved. Maybe sometime, somewhere in the future, after Red John was caught, she would see it more often.


	4. Laziness Causes Truffle Consumption?

A/N: Mehhh, not much to say about this one. I looove truffles, and I just felt the need to incorporate them. You know, now that I think about it, this is the second food I like that I've stuck in here. My bad. =.=" Oh, and somewhere in the middle-ish, when Jane asks for a truffle the first time, he says "I can has one"; that is NOT poor grammar, that is an emphasis on his childishness and a vague reference to I Can Has Cheesburger. O.O;

Disclaimer: Ha, ha, ha. I own nothing. Except the truffles. Yum. :-)

PATRICKJANELOVESTERESALISBONANDITSSOOBVIOUS

Teresa Lisbon was usually proud of her team. They quickly closed cases that would have taken the Narcotics people half their lives if their roles were switched. They had good team dynamics. They even brought coffee. But "usually proud" didn't quite cover Lisbon's mood that day.

Jane was sleeping, which wasn't abnormal but irritated her nonetheless. Rigsby had apparently had a bad Whopper, because he had spent half his time that day going to or from the men's room. Cho was reading a book instead of working, which again wasn't totally out of character but still annoyed her. Even Van Pelt, who was usually eager to please, had fallen asleep at her computer.

Lisbon considered her options.

She thought about throwing a fit, but immediately dismissed that as too childish. How many times had that done any good for her as a child? None. None whatsoever. Well, except for the time at the ice cream shop . . . She smiled briefly. A memory for another time.

She mulled over deducting from their pay, but rejected that too. Rigsby without money is Rigsby with no food, and working with Rigsby with no food is a dangerous place to be.

She brought several other options to mind but discarded them all. It was frustrating. It had been a frustrating _week_, and she was way too tired to deal with her team's laziness. However, since no one seemed to be alert… She leaned down subtly to slip a hand into one of her lower drawers. Her fingers quickly found the edge of a container; she opened it and withdrew a small foil-wrapped chocolate. With practiced fingers, she peeled off the crinkling wrapper and popped the truffle into her mouth. Mmm.

Some people preferred flavored fillings; Teresa Lisbon was a sucker for the traditional fudge. And when she could enjoy one of them, she remembered why: the thing was perfect. It melted slowly, the outer, hard chocolate dissolving first, then the inner fudge filling. No raspberries or apricots for her. Just chocolate. Perfection.

Eventually the truffle was gone, and only the taste remained. She forlornly dropped the foil into the trash bin on the side of her desk. There was a positive side to her team's laziness, she supposed. She only allowed herself to sneak a truffle when no one would see. Especially not---

"Hi, Lisbooon," Jane's tenor voice exclaimed, drawing out her name.

Never mind.

"So I saw you had some sugary stuff." His blue eyes were ridiculously childlike. She had never been good at resisting her nieces' and nephews' pleas for candy. "I can has one?"

Lisbon scoffed. "I don't eat 'sugary stuff.'"

Jane raised an eyebrow. "_Chocolate_, then," he corrected himself. "A truffle. Plain old sugar too juvenile for you?"

Lisbon glanced up at him. He was ruining her only self-indulgence. "What's your point here?"

Jane held out his cupped hand. "Can I have one?"

"No."

"Please?" Jane threw her a grin to top it off.

"_No,_" Lisbon repeated, more forceful this time.

Jane's face dropped. "Not even if I asked pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?" he pleaded.

Lisbon pointed at the door. "Go."

"I purposefully replaced 'sugar' with 'cherry,'" Jane informed her, ignoring her instructions. "Because the usual saying is 'with sugar on top,' but since you seem to have a grudge against sugar, I replaced it."

"Now."

"You know, that really intrigues me. What did sugar ever do to you to get on your bad side?"

"Leave, Jane."

"I know. I bet you got on a sugar high once, and you did something embarrassing. But it would've had to be something _really_ embarrassing. It makes me wonder. Did you try gymnastics and fall on your face?"

"Jane!"

"No, you would've managed it. You took gymnastics as a kid."

"Get out of my office!"

"Hmm. Maybe you tried to karaoke in front of your entire class, and the sugar high made your voice crack."

"Go! Now!"

"You know, it's not your fault. Plenty of kids' voices crack. You should move on. Sugar has nothing against you."

Lisbon smacked a heavy folder onto her desk, loud enough to break Jane's monologue. "I want you to _leave_. _Now_."

Jane held up his hands defensively. "Okay, okay. Calm down, woman." He looked out the door. "Oh, look, you went and woke Grace up. Will I have to go sing 'to myself' again to get her back asleep?"

Lisbon glared at him. "Do _not_ put her back to sleep. I need my team working. And that includes you."

Jane grinned. "Don't I always?"

Lisbon scoffed again. "Uh, _no_."

Jane laughed lightly. "My work is keeping you and your team on their feet. Therefore, I _am_ working. Now Grace knows to stay awake, and you are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

Lisbon leaned over and smacked him on the arm. "Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed? That's crap. Get out of my office." Her angry-face slipped into a smile as she sent Jane back to his couch. She would have to be more careful with her truffle fetish. Perhaps one of these days she might consider sharing a truffle with Jane . . . and then keep his company.


	5. Black Eyes, Blue Tears

A/N: Wow. This is a lot more serious than I had planned on this collection of fics being. I'm hoping it will be well received. R&R! Oh, and my apologies. I've been really, really busy and haven't updated. :-(

Disclaimer: If I owned the Mentalist, I wouldn't have to spend my summer break babysitting 24/7. Mehh.

Warning: A little bit dark/violent. Just a tad. I think I made it work, but I'd like to hear your thoughts. For the record, if this is happening to anyone reading this, GET HELP. You don't have to put up with it, and it's NOT love.

THEMENTALISTTHEMENTALIST

The day Teresa Lisbon got a boyfriend, Patrick Jane was . . . uneasy. It was odd to think of the boss having a romantic partner. He told himself to be happy for her, though. It was obviously important to her. Despite the fact that she had failed to tell him of her own accord. And that this new man obviously wasn't the one for her.

Jane knocked on Lisbon's door, noting a cluster of wildflowers in a vase on her desk. She looked up quickly before shoving something into a desk drawer. Jane frowned slightly; he had caught a flash of something pink and paper-like. A card? It wasn't either of her brothers' birthdays. Besides, she never bought them anything pink. Their wives weren't pink people. Jane's expression tightened infinitesimally; it would appear that Lisbon had a new friend.

"What do you want, Jane?" Lisbon's voice brought him back from himself. Jane glanced at her sideways.

"Lisbon, do you have a boyfriend?"

Lisbon, of course, blushed. "No," she denied, her head down as she avoided his gaze.

Jane suppressed whatever feeling it was that came up. "How long?"

"We aren't _doing_ anything, Jane, and I'm not in high school!"

Jane scrutinized her. "Did I _say_ you were doing anything?" he asked gingerly, wary of why she would volunteer any information, especially of that variety.

Lisbon glared right back at him, crossing her arms. "No. But it was written all over your face. And we're _not_."

"Hmm," Jane said simply. "Just so you know, he doesn't know you very well."

Lisbon scoffed. "Go away, Jane. You don't know what you're talking about."

Jane pointed to the drawer in which the aforementioned card was hiding. "He gave you a pink card, probably with a cheesy Hallmark poem inside, which would be wonderful, I'm sure, if you liked pink or Hallmark. But you don't." He shifted his argument to the vase. "And, come on, Lisbon, wildflowers?" He tutted. "Cheap as well as not your style. You would prefer something classier. Roses, perhaps?"

Lisbon pointed out the door. "_Leave_." She had on her angry face now.

He complied, hearing her mutter something after him but not particularly caring enough to ask what it was.

Later, Jane saw Lisbon being overly cautious leaving her office. She watched her teammates anxiously, obviously waiting for them to rush up and accost her about her love life. Jane snorted from his couch. Did she really think he would blab her secret all over creation? He was better than that.

Surprisingly, Lisbon walked over to his couch. Jane looked up at her silently.

"Alex."

Jane raised an eyebrow. Surely she wasn't ---

"His name is Alex," Lisbon repeated, "we've dated for one week, and I swear if I get the tiniest hint of you gossiping about it, I will beat your butt all the way to Vegas and back."

Jane gave her a casual salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon glared at him. "Actually, I was lying about the 'and back' part. I would beat your butt to Vegas and then leave you there for some Good Samaritan to pick up. It would be less paperwork for me."

Jane just grinned, but it was forced. Something about the guy --- even simply his name --- was just . . . off. He didn't like this Alex person at all, from what he knew of him so far.

The day that Lisbon came in with a nearly (but not quite) invisible bruise on her collarbone, Jane was concerned but not overly so. After all, everyone had their clumsy moments. Even he did. On occasion. On a very rare occasion.

The day she came trying (and failing) to cover a black eye --- and the still-visible collarbone bruise --- with makeup, Jane felt the need to confront her. He held a conference with Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt, and they felt the same way.

"She's never had bruises that bad before," Rigsby mused, "not that I can remember."

"It's not normal for her," Van Pelt worried.

"We got that," Cho deadpanned.

"Look, dude, she's taken down six-and-a-half-foot guys and come away without a mark," Rigsby opined. "And now all of a sudden she comes in with two bruises?"

"That's what I'm wondering," Jane mumbled. He had his suspicions, but he couldn't share it with them until he had no other options. He had promised Lisbon he would keep quiet.

As the agents whispered among themselves how best to help their boss, Jane walked into Lisbon's office. She glanced over at him from the filing cabinet, letting her hair fall over her face. Jane maintained his happy demeanor, but he noted her evasions.

"Lisbon," he said. Just her name. What else was there to say?

"Leave," Lisbon muttered.

"We have a case?" he asked pleasantly, hoping that acting as though things were normal would get her to spill.

"No," she replied in the same abrupt, low tone.

"Are you going to bring Alex in for us to meet?" Jane asked deliberately.

Lisbon looked up for the first time since he had entered the room. "No," she said, her tone containing more force than the situation deemed necessary. Jane's all-seeing eye did not miss the way her fingers began to pull at and play with the ends of her sleeves at the mention of her boyfriend.

"Sure?" Jane asked gaily.

Lisbon glared at him. "I'm sure that if you don't go annoy someone else I'll have you on the first Greyhound bus to Vegas."

"Well, a Greyhound is an improvement to a butt-beating," Jane commented, but once again he left. He now knew for sure that this Alex guy was bad, and he was going to take him down.

Because Lisbon was his boss. Of course _that_ was why. No personal interest in the matter. She was his boss, and Alex-whoever was hurting his boss.

Later that night, Jane couldn't sleep (obviously). Having nothing better to do, he grabbed a pen and paper and began to write . . .

THEMENTALISTTHEMENTALIST

Lisbon, ever the faithful leader, arrived at the CBI headquarters at 6:30 the next morning. She slipped tiredly into her chair, resting her head on the desk but wincing when it put pressure on a bruise. Opening her eyes, she noticed a small white envelope lying beside her case folders. She reached out for it, hanging on with two exhausted fingers.

Slitting open the envelope, Lisbon withdrew the letter. She shook it open and began to read.

_Dear Lisbon,_

_You probably already recognized my handwriting and are preparing to shove this into a nearby incinerator,_ (_darn right I am_, Lisbon thought) _but please restrain yourself._

_I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you need to. Alex is not acceptable for you. I know you're thinking, "Oh, I'm not twenty-five anymore, I don't have that much time," _(Lisbon smiled faintly; even in letters Jane tried to read minds) _but I think we both know that's not true. You deserve better than him. And, Lisbon, I know what he's like. Don't tell me I don't, or I will become very angry. _(Lisbon would have laughed at the thought of Jane angry, if she weren't frozen at the _other_ thought of Jane knowing what was going on.) _Lisbon --- __there's still time__. You don't want to let anyone inside your personal life, but if you don't, something bad will happen and then you'll have to explain it to the team anyways. Wouldn't it be better to nip this in the bud before that can happen?_

_Just think about it. Jane._

Lisbon blinked. Stared at the letter. Didn't know what to do besides that. She raked her fingers through her hair subconsciously, trying to decide. _It_ _shouldn't even be a question,_ she told herself. _Accept Jane's help? Preposterous._ Yet she found herself considering it. How bizarre.

Lisbon was so deep in thought that she didn't hear Minelli knocking at her office door. She shot up to open the door for him, apologizing.

"You look like crap," he told her bluntly.

Lisbon avoided unemployment by refraining from sarcasm, instead saying, "I'm not feeling well today, sir."

Minelli looked her over, apparently displeased. "We've had a hiatus from the crime streak. Go home; take a sick day. I'm not risking an epidemic."

Lisbon nodded. "Yes, sir." She gathered her bag, even sticking Jane's letter into a side pocket as a side thought. She left the building and headed for her car, dropping her stuff in the backseat before climbing into the driver's seat.

Despite her relatively slow driving, she managed to arrive at her apartment in reasonably good time. She thrust open the door, only to drop her bag in shock. A muscled, brown-haired man was lounging on one of her chairs.

"Alex?" she stated, her voice quiet. "What . . .?"

Alex stood, smiling widely --- dangerously. "Welcome home, Teresa darling."

She glared at the man, saying nothing. The endearment was not welcome from him.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, the question holding cold implications.

Lisbon exhaled fiercely. "How the _heck_ did you get into my apartment?"

Alex jerked a thumb at the wall, indicating the neighboring apartment. "Mrs. Smith is very helpful. And very gullible." He dangled a jingling key from a finger.

Lisbon's hand reached for her side, searching for her gun, before she remembered that she had left it in her desk at the CBI.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you're gun-less. Again." He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You want some food?"

Lisbon yanked away. "Get the heck out of my house."

Alex didn't take kindly to _that_. "Shut up!" He got a fierce grip on both her arms and pushed her against the wall. "Don't talk to me that way!" He raised a hand; Lisbon flinched . . . until there was a loud cracking noise and Alex dropped to the floor. Jane stood behind him in shock, holding a crowbar with his eyes anxiously wide and then quickly dropping it.

"Jane." His name came like a gust of wind from Lisbon's lips as she slid down the wall, collapsing into a crouch in relief. Jane dragged Alex's unconscious body out of the apartment, locked the door behind him, and dropped down beside her, hesitantly slipping an arm around her trembling shoulders. He said nothing, just silently let his boss recover.

Lisbon finally looked up at the consultant. Jane made no comment on the few tears streaking down her cheeks. "Thank you," she said simply, her breathing still slightly labored.

Jane held her closer, aware that his actions were a surprise to both of them. "You're welcome."

Nothing was said for a moment, then Lisbon asked, "If Alex wasn't acceptable for me, Jane, then who is?"

Jane smiled slightly, saying nothing. Lisbon's green eyes glowed.

The day Jane brought Lisbon a dozen roses in a vase, the team knew they were together --- or at least, the relationship had deepened. They were right.


	6. Baby Bumblebees

**A/N:** I was working in the nursery at church last night (well, it probably won't have been last night by the time YOU read this ^^) and was attacked by a little plot bunny. This is the product of that attack.

**Disclaimer:** You know I don't own the Mentalist because . . . um . . . well, I suppose you don't really, but considering that it actually caught on and wasn't an epic fail, that's evidence enough.

THEMENTALISTONTHURSDAYNIGHTS?WHATSUPWITHTHAT?

The sun warmed the inhabitants of the local park. Trees wafted slightly in the light wind, and dandelion seeds drifted aimlessly through the air. The weather was beautiful, and a number of mothers were taking advantage of it. While most of the mothers just solitarily watched their children, two of them had sat down on a bench together and begun talking. As it turned out, Mrs. Lisbon lived in the area, and Mrs. Jane was visiting a friend nearby. Their children played in the sandbox while they chatted.

Five-year-old Patrick Jane cupped weed-corrupted sand in his hands, letting it slowly trickle back down between his fingers. Teresa Lisbon, four years old but nearly five, knelt beside him, less inclined to dirty her hands. Instead, she practiced making flower chains. So far she was failing miserably.

"Whatcha doing that for?" Patrick asked, looking over at her.

"My mom showed me how. I can do it," Teresa insisted.

Patrick laughed, his blue eyes buoyant. "I can make flowers too!"

Teresa handed him a clover. "Can I see?"

"Ta-da!" Patrick pulled a satin rose out of seemingly nowhere and handed it to her. She accepted the gift willingly enough, but it was quickly set to the side so she could devote her attention back to the art of flower chain-making. Patrick looked slightly annoyed at being taken lightly. "Whatcha s'posed to say now?"

Teresa looked up momentarily to glare at him. "Thaaaaaank yeeeeeew," she drawled flatly, obviously tired of hearing the same thing from her mother.

Patrick only grinned, happy to be recognized, and resumed his sand-draining.

Without warning, Patrick leaped up, spraying Teresa with a post-jump spray of sand. She spit the majority of it out of her mouth before following him.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, a childishly stern expression on her face.

Patrick held out his hands. They were firmly clasped around something. His face was happy . . . too happy. "I gots a baby," he told her.

". . . A baby _what_?"

Patrick's grin widened. "I'm bringin' home a baby bumblebee," he sang, barely off-key, some of his words whistling due to a missing tooth. "Won't my mommy be so proud of me? . . ."

Teresa waved him off. "Put it back!" she exclaimed. "I don't like bees!"

Patrick just continued with his song. "I'm bringin' home a baby bumblebee . . ." He stopped short, an expression of pain flashing momentarily across his face. "Ouch. He stung me."

Teresa sighed. "Sorry, but tha—"

Patrick overran her sentence, suddenly remembering what to do. "I'm squishin' up my baby bumblebee," he sang as he enacted the next verse of his favorite song. "Won't my mommy be so proud of me? I'm squishin' up my baby bumblebee . . ."

"That's gross." Teresa had a look of disgust on her face.

Patrick held up his now-slimy hands. "Ewww, it's sticky." His face lit up again; Teresa eyed him nervously. "IIIIIIII'm _lickin'_ up my baby bumblebee! Won't my mommy be so proud of me? . . ."

"Don't do it!" Teresa smacked him on the arm. "That's gross!"

"Teri, use nice touches," her mother called from the bench.

Teresa just glared at Patrick like it was his fault. He smiled blindingly at her; she blushed.

"Your face is aaaallll red," he teased her, causing the blush to deepen.

"Nuh-uh," she denied.

"Yes-huh," he laughed.

Teresa looked away, obviously having decided that she wasn't going to argue with this impossible boy anymore.

Patrick, intent on winning her back, tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. She didn't respond, so he tapped her again, harder. She whirled around, planning to lecture him, when he presented a flower chain.

"It's for you," he said, holding it out to her. Teresa smiled reluctantly. She put out a hand for it, but he shook his head. Instead, he slipped it around her neck himself. It was a perfect fit. "The green looks pretty with your eyes," he complimented her. An embarrassed Teresa studied her shoes.

"Uh . . ." Teresa kicked some sand uncertainly. "You wanna go swing?"

Patrick shook his head. "I know something funner." He reached over and tapped her shoulder. "You're It!" He ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. Teresa was just behind, laughing as she swiped at him.

The impromptu game of tag lasted several minutes, finally reaching its conclusion when one of them (they weren't sure which one) tripped over a tree root and crashed, bringing the other down with them. They were pleased at the turn of events --- Patrick because he had managed to dirty his shirt all over again, Teresa because she no longer had to chase him all over the park. They took the end of the game into stride, lying on their stomachs on the ground together and pulling out handfuls of long summer grass. Eventually they both had collected a large pile of the plants, and they tossed their storage at each other.

Mrs. Lisbon stood from the bench, walking over to where Patrick and Teresa were playing. Kneeling down beside her daughter, she told her, "We have to go, honey. Say good-bye to your friend."

Teresa waved at Patrick, who was still sprawled on the ground. "Bye, Patrick," she said in a slightly sad tone. She turned to leave, but before she could process it, he had jumped up and hugged her. She hesitantly returned the hug, not entirely comfortable with touchy-feely stuff.

"Bye, 'Resa." Not willing to let go so easily, he spoke into her dark hair.

"My name's _Teresa_," she told him, little conviction in her voice.

"Then can I call you Teri?" She could feel his grin.

"_Teresa_."

"Okay, Resa."

Mrs. Lisbon began to pull gently at her daughter. "Teri, honey, we really have to go."

Teresa let go of Patrick. "Bye," she repeated. He grinned and waved as she walked away.

"That's a very pretty necklace, Teri. Did Patrick make it for you?" Mrs. Lisbon asked.

Teresa nodded at her mother before glancing backward once more. Patrick stood, smiling as he waved. She waved back quickly before her mother hurried her into the car. He sat back down, suddenly lonely; his mom took him home soon afterwards, mostly because he wasn't having nearly so much fun without "Resa" there to play with him.

Funny how certain memories are forgotten.


	7. An Afternoon at the Cherry Fest 1 of 2

A/N: *A-rant-is-coming warning sign flashes* Wow… I just went to go see _Race to Witch Mountain _with my grandmother and two of my sisters. In my defense, I walked into the theater knowing only the title of the movie (not even a commercial). But setting aside the cheesy script (typical modern Disney), the laughable special effects, and the stupidity of Dwayne Johnson's agreeing to, not one, but _two_ Disney movies (_Game Plan_ and _Race to Witch Mtn_.) --- the absolute most distracting part of it was Anna Sophia Robbs's _hair_. Her hair just…it just _killed_ me! One look at her roots and eyebrows showed that it was dyed, like, five shades lighter than is considered appropriate for her skin tone. Anna Sophia, put down the peroxide and back away slowly.

A/N (continued): Oh, and if anyone knows the town this setting is based off, you get an entire plate of my just-baked chocolate chip cookies. It is indeed a real town (though not in California), and it is amazing. I love living there. (Of course, you practically have to have a Ph. D. in maps to find it, because it is actually a village.)

Oh, right. I nearly forgot to disclaim it. _Disclaimer_: I don't own it. If I owned it, I wouldn't have to go to the library to rent my classical music CDs. I would just buy them. Or hire a personal orchestra. (I'm partial to violins, as I've played for five years now.)

Sorry this has been so long. I just needed to vent a little. Please R&R! :-)

SIMONBAKERNEEDSTOLIEABOUTHISSTINKINGAGE

The historical area of a small town outside of Visalia, California, was tranquil and silent . . . the _past_ tense of the verb being the operative element here. A rental car on the curb of a "busy" street signaled the location of the two people breaking the tranquility.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, stranded trying to find a crime scene, and you want to look inside a _bakery_?" Teresa Lisbon stared at Patrick Jane, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. She could not believe what he had just told her.

"Well, why not?" the consultant countered, an incessant grin covering his face. "It's right there. And you know how I _love_ a good snack." Rubbing his stomach forlornly with one hand, he used the other to gesture at the antique sign reading "Wixey's Bakery."

Lisbon sighed, aggravated. "Our car _broke down_, Jane. Can you please be serious for one minute? Minelli will have my butt when he finds out we're not there," she muttered, the last part a distressing afterthought.

Jane threw her a killer smile as he turned and headed for the door. "I'm going in!" he declared, swinging the bakery door open gaily. Lisbon groaned, giving up for the moment as she opened her cell phone to call her boss. She was pleased to find that this rural town actually had cell service . . . only to have the mood killed by a message reading "No charge. Phone shutting down to conserve battery" and a short line of music playing as it did so. Lisbon could have kicked herself. Why, why, _why_ did she go to bed the night before without charging her cell? _It won't matter_, she had told herself; _it's only one night, after all. _How very laughable . . . or not so much. She stormed into the bakery, intent on dragging Jane to the nearest pay phone.

"Look, this one's new." The young woman tending the counter – Katie – was leaning over it to point out a loaf of bread to Jane; Lisbon noted with disgust how she was careful to cock her head and flip her bleached-blonde hair flirtatiously with every other sentence. How irritating.

Jane was nodding to her words, though more focused on the baked goods than on her attempts at flirting. "Yep, that looks terrific." He pointed to the one beside it. "How much is that one?"

Katie flicked her hair happily. "We're actually having a sale, since it's the Cherry Fest and all, so it's only three bucks."

Jane looked up at that. "The Cherry Fest?" he asked, eager for information.

Katie nodded, her fake-blonde hair bouncing. Before she could stop herself, Lisbon resentfully wondered how much she spent in products each month. "It's an annual thing," the local informed Jane. "I guess it's usually in May, but this year it's June. Dunno why. _Anyways_," she gave a giggle, "there's a parade and a fair and games and stuff. It's lots of fun; I go every year."

Lisbon's eyes widened when Jane moved his gaze to _her_, his face screaming enthusiasm. "No way," she shot him down before he could even ask. "We are getting a new car and getting out of here."

Jane's face dropped dramatically. "Oh, come ooooonnn, Lisbon," he pouted.

"Don't even start," she warned him, spinning on her heel to walk out the door.

Jane hurriedly paid for the loaf of bread before chasing after her. "Hey, Lisbon," he called charmingly, "guess what?" Lisbon glared at him from the corner of her eye and didn't respond. "Come on, guess," he told her. "It's good for you."

"What?" she relented.

Jane grinned as he pointed to the large clock outside the mini-plaza. "It's noon," he proclaimed.

"Alert the media," Lisbon muttered unexcitedly.

"Not only is it noon," Jane continued, "it's lunchtime. And you, my dear Lisbon, are hungry, hungry, hungry. It's not healthy to skip breakfast, you know."

Lisbon crossed her arms, not asking how he knew she had skipped breakfast. "I am _not_ 'hungry, hungry, hungry.'" But the inopportunely loud growling of her stomach gave her away.

Jane grinned, holding up the just-purchased bread. "There's sandwich ingredients and stuff in that store over there," he informed her. "And you know what that means."

Lisbon stared at him silently, hoping for the love of peace that it was something sensible, for once.

Jane threw up his hands happily, making sure not to lose his grip on the bread. "Picnic!"

No luck.

Jane motioned for her to follow him across the parking lot to a small convenience store. She slid through behind him before the door closed, cringing internally at the irritating tinkling noise the bell on the door made. Did people seriously still use those? She thought that trend had died out ages ago. She emerged from her snarky moment just in time to see Jane's curly blonde hair bobbing through the next aisle. She hurried up to him.

"Let's go, Jane," she told him sternly. "I need to find a pay phone."

Jane looked up from his pile of deli meats and sliced cheeses. "But Lisbon," he said reprovingly, "we have to have our picnic first. And I wanna go to the Cherry Fest, too."

Lisbon shook her head. "We are leaving the second we get a new rental."

Jane just smiled as he headed for the counter with his food.

Later, after Jane's food supply was nearly gone, Lisbon had to admit that it wasn't half bad. "It's better than fast food," she acknowledged.

Jane was looking very smug. "I told you. You just never give picnics a chance."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "No, I'm just more concerned about not getting fired than not getting to have a picnic."

Jane simply smiled and swallowed the last bite of his sandwich.

Tim, the teenage boy who had worked the cash register in the convenience store, ran out to them.

Jane, ignoring Lisbon's hesitance, grinned and waved. "Hello!"

Tim stopped to nod briefly. "Hi," he greeted. "Are you guys going to the Cherry Fest?"

Jane answered, "Of course!" at the same time Lisbon asserted, "Heck no."

Tim blinked in confusion before continuing. "Well, if you want to watch the parade, you should head over to Main Street. The floats are all getting ready to go."

Jane jumped up. "Let's go, Lisbon!" With a speed he hadn't known he possessed, he collected all the trash and dumped it into a nearby garbage bin. He pulled her up by the arm, ignoring her hissed threats of bodily harm, and began to drag her towards Main Street.

Eventually Lisbon relented, mostly so that she wouldn't be dragged all over the town. Jane found them a spot on someone's lawn, slightly cool under the shadow of a tree. It had a good view of the floats, which were already beginning to go down the street. Jane happily pointed out his favorites to Lisbon, who gradually got into the spirit and even admitted she liked some of them.

A small local family, likely the one that owned the lawn Jane and Lisbon were using, came to sit beside them early on. They had a little four-year-old girl, Andie, with curly blonde hair and brown eyes --- the cutest thing. She ran around aimlessly, babbling happily about anything that popped into her head. More than once she clambered onto Jane's lap and pointed out the T.V.A. Queens (a small beauty pageant). "Look!" she would squeal. "Princesses!" Andie's antics exposed so many of his long-buried memories that Jane wasn't sure how he managed to keep his emotions in check, but he did.

Andie's older sister Serena would come over and take her back each time. She must have repeated "I'm so sorry" ten times before it was halfway over. Serena had dark, wavy hair, green eyes, and pale skin identical to Lisbon's, though her face was slightly more rounded than his boss's. She wore rings on most of her long, slender fingers, which were tipped by long, emerald-painted nails. Though her near-constant fiddling with her hands suggested shyness (supported by her quiet demeanor), she had a firm handshake, unwavering attention, and startlingly direct gaze that seemed to contradict this.

"The two of you don't live here, yes?" Serena asked. Lisbon shook her head, likely worried that she had met a miniature Jane. "We all basically know each other around here," the teenager explained; "it's a small town."

"Must be nice," Jane stated warmly.

"It is," she beamed. "I grew up here. When I was young, I hated living out here in the middle of nowhere, but as I've grown older, I love the atmosphere."

"But you have family in the South," Jane declared (Lisbon sighed in defeat), "Tennessee, right?"

The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Yes. My mother's side. How did you know that?"

Jane grinned, pleased to show off his mad talent. "A true magician never reveals his secrets, but I like you _(Serena blushed)_, so you get a freebie." Lisbon rolled her eyes and waited for him to get on with it. "You have the slightest accent. It slips in occasionally, only on certain words. You said you grew up in California, so the only logical reason for you to have an ingrained Southern accent is for you to have an emotional connection to the South. Thus, family. And the accent, slight as it is, isn't particularly strong, like it would be in, say, Alabama, so Tennessee."

Serena's eyes bored into Jane's as the corners of her lips lifted into a hesitant smile. "That's amazing. Could I coerce you into doing another?"

Jane nodded cheerfully. "One more," he agreed, "and then we have to go. I barely managed to convince my friend Lisbon here to go with me to the Cherry Fest, so I have to make sure we get there." He looked around for someone to analyze, his eyes alighting on Lisbon herself. "Here's a fairly simple one. Have you noticed how Lisbon has a left-side part and is wearing pants?" Serena nodded, her big eyes appraising Lisbon. "It's to look professional. She's the head of our CBI team back in Sacramento. She has worked hard to get her position, and she doesn't want superiors underestimating her because she's female. Hence, the attempt at masculinity." Lisbon glared at him, but the damage was done.

"That's pretty cool," Serena said, detaching Andie from Jane once more. "Look, Andie, do you see the pretty pink castle? Anyways," she redirected her attention to Jane and Lisbon, "the parade's just about done, so I think we're going to have a look around the fair before Andie gets fussy. It was nice meeting you, Patrick, Teresa." She shook each of their hands and smiled prettily before leading Andie back to their parents.

As soon as Serena and Andie were out of hearing distance, Lisbon gave Jane a sound whack on the arm.

"What was that for?" he whined as he rubbed his wound.

"For being a show-off," she told him. After a pause, she asked, "Am I really that masculine?"

Jane smiled. "I didn't know you were sensitive. That's sweet, Lisbon. That's really heart-warming." But he never answered the question --- just got to his feet and pulled Lisbon up beside him. "Come on, let's go. The parade's about done, so we can head over to the actual festival."

Jane followed the crowd (for once), which took them to the end of Main Street and halfway down Stinking Rivers Road (Lisbon had a double take when she saw the street sign), until they came to a large sign proclaiming "Cherry Fest" with a poorly drawn cherry on the right of it.

"I think we're here," Lisbon exclaimed sarcastically.

"So we are!" Jane exclaimed, his delight genuine. He hurriedly dragged Lisbon towards the tickets booth, skillfully evading throngs of people and large blow-up children's games.

"Oh, joy," Lisbon sighed, shaking some mud off her sensible shoes. "It must have rained recently." Her pessimism went unnoticed, however, as Jane was distracted with the purchasing of tickets.

"Yes, we'll have twenty," Jane declared to the elderly woman distributing tickets. She handed him a long string of tickets, and he surrendered a twenty-dollar bill and a brilliant smile. "Thank you _very_ much," he told her.

The elderly woman gestured for Lisbon to lean in. "He's a keeper, honey," she whispered, her eyes glancing at Jane's wedding band. "You'd best hang onto him tight."

Lisbon could feel her face heating. "Oh, he's not my---" she began to stammer, but Jane tugged her away before she could finish.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~

A/N: Yeah, sorry, there's two. I hadn't meant for this to be as long as it's become, so I'm splitting it up into two different chapters.


	8. An Afternoon at the Cherry Fest 2 of 2

A/N: Hi, again. Sorry it took so long for me to update . . . I've been on vacation for most of the past month. But I am back! Anyways, this is part two of two. 'Tis done. (Unless I decide to rewrite the ending, or if I get enough reviews requesting a continuation, but it's doubtful the latter will happen.)

Disclaimer: I own . . . ah . . . my pencil and notebook in which I scribble fanfic ideas. Other than that, nothing, really.

FREECREDITREPORTDOTCOM

"What first?" Jane asked excitedly as he tore a few tickets off their line. His lively inner child was just loving the bustle of the fair, Lisbon noted. After waiting a few seconds for an answer and not getting one, Jane answered himself. "We'll do one of those strength competitions."

If Lisbon had been any less dignified than she was, she would have snorted. "You, Jane? A _strength_ competition? This I've got to see." She followed him as he headed for a nearby booth.

The booth-master stood beside the game, calling, "Three tickets, people, test your strength. Threeeeeeee tickets." Jane ran up to him, actually bouncing on his heels in his eagerness, and handed over three tickets. The booth-master handed him a mallet and led him to an available stand.

"Here you go. Just hit the base as hard as you can, and whatever level the ball hits determines your prize."

Jane wielded his mallet, a fiercely determined look on his face. Lisbon watched with interest, waiting for him to swing. He did; the ball barely passed the second level. The booth-master handed him a consolation prize. Jane walked over to Lisbon, a disappointed expression now clouding his face.

Lisbon chuckled. "It can't have been much of a surprise." She received a blank look. "Honestly, Jane, you're not known for your physical shape. Let me try." She stalked over to the booth-master, handed him three tickets, and accepted a mallet. She took the same stand Jane had, but when she hit, the ball went up one, two, five, eight levels --- out of ten. The booth-master, evidently in shock, barely managed to direct her to the prize table. Lisbon chose a stuffed clown and, with it in hand, joined Jane again. She tossed it to him. "It's for your carnie memory palace," she teased. "Knock yourself out." Jane grinned, holding the doll tightly, and pointed out another game.

"Let's go do that one now," he appealed. "No strength necessary." Lisbon found herself gaining more enthusiasm as the afternoon passed. Jane's excitement was catching.

After several more games and a ride on the carousel at Jane's request, the sun was feeling quite hot on their heads. "Let's take a quick break," Lisbon finally insisted. Jane readily agreed, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, and he and she trudged towards a bench in the shade.

Jane flopped down loudly onto the wooden bench, his head lolling back in relief. Lisbon slipped down beside him, using considerably more grace than he did. "I swear," Jane panted, "it's gotta be ninety degrees out."

"Jane," Lisbon sighed, discreetly wiping her forehead, "shut up. You're fine. Stop complaining."

Jane suddenly sat up, his previous fatigue forgotten. "I know what'll kill the heat," he proclaimed.

Oh, crap. Not another bout of insanity.

"Iiiiice creeeeaaaam," Jane sang.

Lisbon sighed._ The sun _is_ vicious today,_ she rationalized . . . and ice cream, juvenile as it was, would taste wonderful. "Where?"

Jane took her hand and used it to point out a small shop across the road. "Over there. It's called Ella's Ice Cream or something. It's a regular shop, so it's probably cheaper than the fair variety." Lisbon nodded, his logic making sense. She pushed herself off the bench, Jane following her example. They headed for Ella's together.

"Hi, I'm Cindy, what can I do for you two today?" the peppy employee asked. Jane rattled off his order quickly, and Lisbon did the same, though with a slightly more measured tone. The perky girl scribbled the orders onto paper and gave it to the tall boy working the machines. He quickly had Jane's flurry and Lisbon's cone ready to go.

"Okay, that's . . . four-fifty," the cashier told them. Lisbon reached for her wallet, but Jane shook his head.

"I got it," he told her warmly.

"No, Jane, you paid for the tickets. The least I can do is pay for the ice cream," Lisbon persevered.

"I _got_ it," Jane insisted, and he pulled out a five from his wallet and handed it to the cashier too quickly for Lisbon to stop him. "Keep the change," he told the cashier.

"You're such a pain," Lisbon muttered, glaring at Jane, and then at the cashier for good measure. The poor girl handed them each their ice cream, looking rather bewildered.

"H- have a nice day," she said, her vivacity taken down a notch with her customers' odd behavior. Jane threw her a grin before Lisbon led him – forcefully – out the door.

"By the way, you do know that since I've paid for both the fair tickets and the ice cream, this could be classified as a date?" Jane teased.

"Shut up and eat your ice cream," Lisbon commanded, her authoritative tone less terrifying when paired with a blush and a small smile as she sat him down across from her at a two-person picnic table.

"Yes, ma'am," Jane replied pleasantly, sticking his spoon into the cup and twirling it around for maximum flurry consumption. He stuck it into his mouth, slurping it all off neatly, but he looked up at his boss and nearly choked on it. Lisbon was licking her ice cream cone. Thoroughly. Not that he hadn't seen a grown woman lick ice cream before . . . but something about the way Lisbon did it was different. It was cute . . . not that he was calling Lisbon cute. Not that he would ever consider calling Lisbon cute. She would shoot him . . . and . . . um . . . right, he was still dead set on staying faithful to his deceased wife. But if ever he were tempted to move on, things like this supported that. But that would be preposterous. He couldn't move on. Could he? As his eyes followed Lisbon's tongue around the swirls of soft-serve, he discovered he wasn't so sure.

Lisbon glanced up, her cheeks pinking slightly at Jane's fixed gaze. She dipped her head, breaking his spell. "Yes, Jane?" she asked.

Jane ducked his head back down towards his flurry. "Um, nothing. Good ice cream," he evaded. Lisbon nodded, and they continued eating in silence, each sneaking peeks at the other when they thought they weren't looking.

After about ten minutes of slow scooping and licking, Jane and Lisbon had stretched the desserts as long as they could, and both finished up. Lisbon swallowed the last bite of ice cream-coated cone, and when Jane glanced up at her, she had a small smudge of vanilla ice cream on her bottom lip. As he fastidiously did _not_ stare at her lips, he wondered if the universe was conspiring against him. This was really not fair . . .

Lisbon, it seemed, had noticed his non-staring. "Is there something wrong, Jane?" she asked tentatively, touching a finger to her lips. Jane gave up his struggle.

"You've got a little bit of ice cream," he stated, "right there." Repressing the urge to touch her lips with his fingers (which, of course, he was _not_ tempted to do anyways), he motioned to his bottom lip. She flushed and quickly wiped it away with her napkin.

"Stupid stuff," Lisbon muttered, sneaking a peek into a small travel mirror to make sure her face was entirely clear of ice cream. After stealing the last spoonful of Jane's flurry, she offered to throw away his cup and spoon --- _offered_ here meaning she would bodily harm him if he restrained her. Ever accommodating, he let her do so, and then she persuaded the cashier inside Ella's to let her use her cell phone to call the rental service.

"All right," Lisbon sighed as she rejoined Jane outside. "I talked to the man working at the rental service. Our car is on its way. What time is it?"

Jane pointed behind her. "There was a clock in the shop. Behind the counter. Didn't you see it?" Lisbon glared at him silently. "I'll take that as a no. Well, lucky for you, I did. It's been, what, fifteen minutes? Yep. So it's about . . . four-thirty."

Lisbon sighed. "Okay, then, it's earlier than I thought. The driver got a late start, so it's going to be here around seven or eight." She raised her hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the sun as she glared at it, as though her violent anger could make it move faster.

Jane jumped up from his seat on the bench. "Well, we don't have much time before we have to leave, so we'd better get on back to the fair." He moved to grab Lisbon's arm, but he stopped, cocking his head. Instead, he touched a hesitant finger to her left cheekbone, drawing it across her cheek, her nose, and coming to rest on her right cheek. "I didn't notice before, in the shade," he said, "but you're a little sunburned. I should've made you put some sun-block on before we went out. Of course you would burn, with fair skin." He seemed angry with himself; Lisbon was too busy fighting the tingly feeling his finger was giving her to wonder why.

"I'm fine," Lisbon lied, though the burn was already stinging. "I can get some lotion or something when we get back to Sacramento." She internally kicked herself; she knew she burned easily, so why hadn't she stopped to get sunscreen? It would've been just one more way to stall this silly afternoon. She certainly hadn't _wanted_ to go with Jane to the fair. She was just humoring him. Yep, that was it. Unquestionably, absolutely just indulging Jane. Oh, shoot, the places _that_ idea took her . . .

"Hello? Lisbon?" Jane was waving a hand in front of her face. "Are we going?" He seemed to have recovered his good disposition. Lisbon nodded briskly and followed him across the street back to the crowds of the Cherry Fest.

If the past hour or two had passed quickly, the next three did double-time. Jane and Lisbon stopped for quite a number of small games, rode at least five rides, and had to restock on tickets twice. Around six o'clock they took a pause to share a cotton candy "cone," each pinching small pieces of opposite sides and pretending they weren't imagining the sugar dissolving on the others' tongue. By the time seven o'clock rolled around, neither of them realized it. They were headed for the Ferris wheel, and the clock had no place in their plans.

"This line is insane," Lisbon sighed. "You'd think most people would've gone home by now."

Jane cocked an eyebrow, countering, "_We're _still here, aren't we?" Lisbon shrugged, admitting the truth in that.

A bored-looking volunteer ushered the line forward as the previous round of the ride came to a stop. "All right, people, it's five tickets, let's get this thing moving . . ." Jane and Lisbon each handed him their tickets before climbing into one of the noticeably small seats.

Lisbon inched towards the edge, trying to make up for lost personal space. "I'm thinking these are made for one passenger . . . or two children," she muttered.

Jane grinned, stretching luxuriously to counter her efforts. "Well, you're always telling me I'm childish, so does that count?"

"If only," she sighed, giving up and just sitting back as she waited for the ride to start.

The last of the passengers boarded, and the worker pressed the controls. Lisbon and Jane lurched forward unexpectedly as the ride began. As they rose into the air, Lisbon noticed the sky.

"It's getting dark," she realized . . . "Oh, crap," she hissed, "it's summer. Summer gets darker later. It has to be past seven."

"Yep," Jane agreed cheerily, "I'd say it's nine o'clock, at least."

Lisbon gave him a horrified look. "We might have missed our rental! Why didn't you say something?" She smacked him on the chest, just for good measure.

"Hey! Uncalled for!" Jane defended himself, rubbing what he was sure would be a bruise by morning. "We were having fun. It slipped my mind. Besides, we would have noticed them pulling in." Lisbon rolled her eyes. Eager to redeem himself, Jane pointed at the sky. "Look. You can hardly see any stars from Sacramento, but here it's a perfect view."

Lisbon nodded slowly, her anger fading into awe. "It's beautiful," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He turned to look at her. "Yes," he agreed, just as softly, "Yes it is." Then, realizing how close they were, he moved slightly away and began counting off constellations he recognized.

"I've never actually seen those ones," Lisbon said aloud, pointing at a smaller group of stars. "What are they?"

Jane scrutinized them for a few seconds, then proclaimed, "Scorpio," using his fingers to draw in the air to play Connect-the-Dots with the stars.

Lisbon made a slight hum of understanding, tilting her head to get a better view. "I see it now."

Then Jane noticed movement below, on the street. "Hey, Lisbon," he asked, "is that our rental?" He pointed towards the car now idling on the side of the road. He didn't miss the drop in Lisbon's face as she confirmed his finding.

"Yes," she sighed. "We'll have to go as soon as we get off of this."

Jane took advantage of her hesitance to leave and put on his best Sad Face. "Can't we go on just one more ride before we go? Pleeeeaaase?" he beseeched her.

Lisbon bit her bottom lip, wanting to appease him but knowing that they needed to get going. "I . . . I'm sorry, but we're pushing Minelli's patience as it is," she decided. "We have to go." Both their faces showed disappointment at her decision.

The Ferris wheel lurched again as it rolled to a stop. Lisbon and Jane unbuckled and slid out of the too-small seat, both missing the close contact with the other but neither willing to admit it.

"Want to race to the car?" Jane appealed to her. "Winner drives?"

Tempting as it was, Lisbon declined, intending to drag the journey out as long as possible. "Thanks, but I'll walk." Jane dropped into pace beside her, and they slowly made their way through the darkening fairgrounds towards their rental.

Jane suddenly remembered a sign he'd passed earlier in the day. "Lisbon!" he exclaimed in horror. "We're going to miss the fireworks!"

Lisbon groaned. "Jane, do you not understand that _Minelli will skin me alive if we're any later than we are?_"

Jane, though looking very put out by her strong tone, insisted, "We can stay another half hour. They should be starting any minute now." As if to agree with him, the boom and skittering of fireworks sounded above them.

Lisbon unlocked the car, her back to Jane. "No."

But Jane, ever the obedient consultant, ignored this. Instead he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her up beside him onto the trunk of the car. "Slow down, woman," he told her seriously. "Life is not supposed to be sped through." She glared at him but did not, _could_ not move; he was holding her beside him with a strength she hadn't realized he had.

Once again, Lisbon's fiery anger cooled off as she watched the booming fireworks display. Jane finally released his hold on her, but only after he was sure she wouldn't jump off the hood.

The two of them sat side by side for ten, thirty, forty minutes watching the fireworks. However, anyone paying any attention would have noticed that although they did watch the fireworks, they spent quite a lot of that time glancing at each other.

Eventually the display ended, and they knew they really did have to leave. Lisbon sat motionless, staring up at the sky as if she could will it to stop time. Jane leaned over the side of the car and picked some fairly large daisies growing wild in the grass, using them to make a flower chain.

"Hey, Lisbon," he said casually. She glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. He held out the flower crown. "Try it on." Lisbon hesitantly accepted it, fitting it around the top of her head. Jane was pleased to see that like Cassie's, Lisbon's flower crown fit perfectly. "Beautiful," he proclaimed. Lisbon blushed, dropping her eyes to her dangling feet. For a few seconds there was silence, then a soft pressure on her cheek. By the time she realized that the pressure was Jane's lips, he had already slipped off the car hood and was holding his hand out to help her down as well. She flushed an even darker pink as she took his hand and slid down. They said nothing as they got into the car, just exchanged glances.

Until Lisbon broke the silence. "So . . . I'm _masculine_, huh?"

Jane just laughed and kissed her again.

OOOH . . . THEMENTALISTISON . . . MUSTWATCH . . .

A/N: Hmm. Well, that was irritating. The characters never obey me. They just go off on their own little tangents. I hadn't planned for a kiss in there (or even for them to see the fireworks!) but it happened anyways. Stupid rebellious characters. .;;;;

Oh, hey! Do me a big favor. Click the green rectangular-looking thing below this text. Something's going to pop up. It is not an ad! Do not close out! Wait for it to finish loading, then type out what you thought of this chapter. Then hit send. Every time you go through this process, an author (who has sat in front of their computer all day refreshing their e-mail page) squeals with delight and grins. Some of them, like me, even reply to these things known as reviews! Please, help us who have no life. Review.


	9. Dancing with the Flower Girls

A/N: I am just spouting these out! :D This has been "in the works" (translation: started and then forgotten) for quite a long time now. I thought I might finish it. You know. Just maybe. :) Oh! This little ficlet thingie takes place during (towards the end of) a kidnapping case. The kidnappee (the victim) was held for ransom and her family was supposed to pay, so they were temporarily rendered unable to properly care for _their_ child. Therefore, the SC unit volunteered to take care of the six-year-old granddaughter of the victim until said victim's relatives were able to take care of her.

Disclaimer: I could claim it. I _could_. But then a maniacal army of copyright monkey ninja assassins would come and kidnap me and stick me in a small box. And that wouldn't be very much fun. So, for now, I don't own anything.

IAMWEARINGABURGERKINGCROWNANDITISENTHRALLING

"Do you like my dress?" Amber Clark stood before Patrick Jane, her face hopeful as she spun around for a swirl effect.

Jane nodded merrily. "Yes, ma'am," he proclaimed. With a smile he asked, "What the occasion?"

Amber grinned back at him, her wide smile missing a baby tooth. "I was the flower girl at my sister's wedding yesterday. It was boootiful. And there were big, shiny lamps on the ceiling. My sister said they're called shanda-somethin'. I liked the cake . . ."

Teresa Lisbon had walked into the room and sat down beside Jane somewhere in the middle of Amber's monologue. "What are we discussing?" she whispered to the consultant.

"Her sister's wedding," Jane informed her. "She was the flower girl in it, and it would seem she liked the dress enough to wear it again today."

" . . . And there were frosting flowers on the cake. They were good. I ate my cousin's off her piece of cake," Amber was saying.

"Hey, Amber," Lisbon interjected in a friendly tone. "Guess what?"

Amber was so intrigued that she actually stopped twirling in place. "What?"

"I was a flower girl too," Lisbon told her. Her tone was serious , confidential, but her eyes flicked towards Jane, and he saw the light of humor there.

"For who?" Amber asked eagerly.

"My cousin James," Lisbon said. "I was six."

"I'm six, too!" Amber crowed excitedly.

"I had a pretty dress, just like yours," Lisbon added. "Only mine was purple. I liked it, but it itched."

Jane grinned, imagining Lisbon as a small child in a poofy purple dress. "I bet you were precious," he teased her.

Lisbon kept her eyes on Amber, who had resumed her dancing, but she smacked Jane on the arm anyways. "Don't patronize me!"

Jane maintained his grin as he rubbed his arm. "So, Amber? What kind of petals did you throw?"

The pink-garbed six-year-old looked at the ceiling. "Uh . . . they were pink and red. I think they were roses. They matched my dress." Then she went off on another tangent about the wedding, which was cut short by a song playing from across the room.

"Shoot," came Grace Van Pelt's voice. "Sorry, boss, sorry; my iPod's been acting up, and I can't get it to stay turned off."

Amber began jumping up and down. "Play it again!"

"Do you like this song?" Lisbon asked her.

"Yeah!" Amber exclaimed.

"Okay, then." Lisbon stood with a grin. "Show me how you danced at the wedding." She nodded to Van Pelt, signaling that she was allowed to play her iPod on speaker. After all, it was ten o'clock at night. Who would they be bothering?

Jane watched intently as Amber grabbed Lisbon's hands and dragged her into something that resembled dancing but was basically just spinning around in circles. He smiled faintly; the spinning motions of woman and child reminded of his own wedding – _his wife dancing with his niece, the flower girl_ – and of his old life in general – _his wife and daughter twirling incessantly in the living room with the radio playing loudly_. He blinked back a few tears memories flooded his mind. The chance moments in time – insignificant then, all too precious now.

Then the sound of Lisbon's laugh brought Jane back to the present. Lisbon was trying to teach Amber how to ballroom dance, but it seemed not to be going well so far. The child just kept reverting to her twirling – and the aforementioned twirling was not so graceful. Amber knocked over Lisbon at least twice. On an impulse, Jane jumped off the sofa and stepped up to the pair, who were recovering from another short fall.

"May I cut in?" he asked Amber, flashing a brilliant smile. She nodded agreeably and skipped over to Van Pelt, pleading for her to take her to get a snack from the vending machines. The rookie agent was happy to oblige, leaving her iPod playing from her desk. With both Rigsby and Cho already gone, that left the consultant and the boss alone in the squad-room.

Jane extended a hand to Lisbon. "Shall we?" he said quietly. Blushing, she accepted, stepping slightly closer to him. He rested his hands on her hips, and she slipped hers around his neck. As the upbeat song Amber had liked changed to something classical (_Tchaikovsky?_ Lisbon wondered) they began to dance. The first moments were awkward, but as they got used to the closeness, they relaxed. The anxiety was replaced by a warm feeling of companionship . . . or perhaps something more. Both Jane's impulse to pull her closer and Lisbon's urge to rest her head on his chest confirmed the latter.

Eventually the music faded, leaving only silence in the air. Silence and a crackling electricity. Jane and Lisbon continued to dance, neither having yet comprehended that the iPod was silent. Finally even their swaying faded, but the two of them stayed in their positions, enjoying the momentary lack of boundaries.

Jane's mind was whirling subconsciously. Although his conscious mind refused to admit it, he was greatly enjoying this moment with Lisbon. The feel of his hands on her, of hers on him – he hadn't been this close to a woman since his wife had died. Lisbon smelled like cinnamon again . . . he found himself leaning into her, drinking in the details about her. He opened his eyes to meet hers. Emerald and cerulean.

His hand cupped the side of her face. Like that day when he had wanted to know "what her face felt like when she was smiling." Only now, he knew exactly what he intended to try.

Her eyelids fluttered. Closed.

Jane leaned in . . .

"Uh . . . boss?" Rigsby's voice cracked anxiously.

Jane and Lisbon jerked apart, Lisbon blushing a furious shade of red and even Jane looking abashed. Poor Rigsby looked like he wished he could turn invisible.

"What is it?" Lisbon asked him, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to fix any curls that might have popped out of place. Her face was slowly but surely returning to its normal fair shade.

Rigsby suffered a fleeting brain lapse. "Um . . ." he fumbled before remembering. "Oh! The, um, victim and Amber's mom were released by the ME's as fine. Amber can go back home tomorrow morning."

Lisbon nodded, unexpectedly tired. "Good. It'll be good for her to get back to normal."

Van Pelt then entered, carrying a sleeping Amber in her arms. "She fell asleep after she ate her Fritos." She set the child down onto a cot they'd set up for her. "I think I'm going to go home. Have a good night, boss. Rigsby." She threw a small smile at the latter. He looked elated.

"Me too. G'night, boss. Gra– Van Pelt." He followed her into the elevator.

Lisbon, suddenly alone, glanced around for Jane. He had settled down into his couch. "Staying the night?" she asked. He nodded. She motioned to her office. "I'm . . . I'm going to be doing some more paperwork before I head home. You can come sleep on the couch in my office, if you like." Attempting to add a hint of normalcy, she added teasingly, "I can keep an eye on you better that way."

Jane accepted the offer, following her into her office. She sat at her desk, looking unenthusiastically at a stack of legal folders, and he relaxed on the couch. Each went about their business – Lisbon's of work, Jane's of resting – though casting glances at the other every so often. Eventually Jane fell asleep, and Lisbon, not wanting to leave him alone, curled herself semi-comfortably on the floor beside the sofa. She would wake early and no one would be the wiser. Except maybe Jane . . . but she found she wasn't particularly upset by that.


	10. Think of Me

A/N: This has been "in the works" (translation: started and then forgotten) for quite a long time now. I thought I might finish it. Oh! And Van Pelt (and the rest, too, maybe) might be a little OOC-ly mean here. I tried to keep her (and them) toned down, but I figure, if Jane just up and left my unit, I'd be pretty ticked off too.

A/R (Author Request): I have several ficlets to finish up, and after that . . . what? I dunno. Therefore, I request any prompts you are willing to give up. PM or review. (Preferably PM; it's simpler for me. ^^) Thanks much!

Disclaimer: I think that if I claimed it, well, let's just say you all wouldn't have the urge to write fanfiction for it. You'd be much too busy writing Strongly Worded Letters to me begging me to take it off the air. So, for now, I don't own anything.

INSERTYOUROWNWITTYREMARKHEREBECAUSEIAMUNINSPIRED

_Out of his peripheral vision, Patrick Jane saw Teresa Lisbon storm into the room where Red John --- Alexander Taylor --- and Jane had each other at knifepoint. The CBI agent fired a bullet from her gun, but a second too soon, Red John hurled his knife at her with deadly accuracy. He fell, but so did she. The terrified look frozen on her face seemed to stab Jane, though the physical knife was embedded in Lisbon's chest._

"Lisbon!"

Jane scrambled forward in his bed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. After the post-sleep disorientation passed, he calmed slightly. He exhaled as he realized that he was now awake and in the real world, although the dream had been far too close to reality for him to forget it easily.

It had now been a month since Jane had found Red John. They had had a meeting . . . he and Red John had both brought knives, and Lisbon had indeed followed him there. Contrary to his latest dream, however, she had managed to shoot Red John before he could kill her. Since then, Jane had painted over the red smiley and bought an actual bed, but that was about as far as his moving-on had gone so far. He was sleeping a little more now, but he still had nightmares --- more about the death of a certain dark-haired CBI agent than about the death of his family. So far there had been guns, knives, rope, and even an elephant once (though he was fairly sure that that night's dinner had been undercooked).

Contemplating his dream, Jane suddenly felt the urge to visit the CBI headquarters. He had turned in his consultant "badge" prior to running after Red John, and he hadn't seen any of the members of the team since then, excluding Lisbon (when she shot Red John). He told himself that he was just tidying up ends. He was moving on now that Red John was dead. Everything would be different. That said, he was _not_ checking up on Lisbon. He did _not _miss her. After all, she had spoiled his plan. She wasn't supposed to be there, much less kill Red John before he had a chance to get his revenge. So _why_ exactly, he raged at himself and his inconsistency, were her last words to him hanging so firmly in his mind?

_Lisbon's emerald eyes, usually a bright green but somehow darkened by her latest encounter, bored into Jane's cerulean ones. "Remember me— uh, us," she told him, stumbling with her words as she tried to evade the medics looking her over. "Think of us." Her gaze tried to penetrate, and under normal circumstances it might have, but for the moment Jane was shut down, so he didn't see (or didn't process) the distressed look behind her façade. Instead he nodded briefly, turned and headed towards his Citroën DS. Didn't look back._

He wasn't sure why that moment clung to him so fiercely. That entire day was basically a blur . . . his general memory wasn't going (he wasn't _that_ old), but he couldn't recall much from that point in time. Just Lisbon coming in, shooting Red John, telling him to think of them. He shrugged it off, blamed it on nerves. Goodness knows he had dealt with those often enough.

_Anyways_, he told himself, _I can visit the team. Just once. See how they're all holding up since I left. It doesn't mean anything. _That was what he repeated to himself as he dressed, locked the door to his house (who would want to break in?), and slid into the driver's seat of his car.

Jane hit the steering wheel . . . for no reason at all, yet for all the reasons he suppressed. He leaned over to buckle his seat belt and quickly sped out of his driveway. The more he thought about visiting the CBI – not that he wanted to go, of course --- his speedometer seemed to inch forward. It was a miracle that he made it there without getting a speeding ticket, he realized as he entered the Department of Justice building.

Jane glanced at a clock on the far wall; it read 5:58. Was it really that early in the day? Oh, well. Someone would be around. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the button (out of habit, he recognized), and waited for it to reach his floor. After what seemed like a very long time to him, the doors opened again, and he walked towards the place where he knew he would find the Serious Crimes unit.

Well, where he would find them eventually. The area was empty, excepting the occasional coffee-runner. Apparently no one came to work at six o'clock except the janitor. Interesting. He settled himself down comfortably onto the worn leather couch once claimed as his. He was surprised to find that the smell, the feel, of the couch was warm. Familiar. Like visiting a relative you haven't seen for a while. He relaxed into it and closed his eyes --- and fell asleep.

. . . Jane's eyelids fluttered open. He sneaked a look at the clock sitting on Rigsby's desk. 6:34. He had been asleep for nearly forty minutes. He straightened up, rubbing the last of the fatigue from his eyes and smoothing down the front of his three-piece suit. His ex-coworkers would be here anytime now.

Indeed, Grace Van Pelt exited the elevator not five minutes later. She nodded tersely at him in acknowledgement, obviously determined not to react until she had had a chance to conference with her associates.

Kimball Cho was the next to arrive. His stoic-faced expression never faltered as he glanced at Jane, glanced away, and sat down in front of his computer, pulling out a book. Jane guessed that there was no recent case for the team, and therefore Cho had made sure to come prepared for boredom.

Wayne Rigsby didn't notice Jane at first. He had already sat down and taken a large bite of doughnut before the figure on the couch caught his eye. Needless to say, the bite of doughnut didn't look nearly so appetizing after he choked on it. However, he found it in him to finish his breakfast, sneaking peeks at Jane every so often.

Another ten minutes passed. No new arrivals. Jane was curious. Not worried. Definitely not worried that he wouldn't get a chance to talk to Lisbon. Nope, just curious.

He glanced around at his inactive ex-associates. Finally he dared to break the silence. "Um, guys? Where's Lisbon?"

It took a few seconds for Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt to decide to answer him. "Was today the day--?" Rigsby whispered to his coworkers.

"What?" Van Pelt gasped. "I thought she said no!"

Cho answered her, "She did. Rigsby's an idiot."

Rigsby shot the Asian man a glare. "Thanks, man. Not my fault. I thought Minelli told her –"

"He did," Cho broke in. "She said no."

Van Pelt caught a glance of a very confused-looking Jane. She turned, feeling obligated to explain their nonsensical chatter. "Ever since – well, you know," she evaded quickly, "Lisbon hasn't been herself. Minelli thought the whole thing was getting to her. He wanted her to switch teams. Narcotics, I think, maybe."

Jane kept his face expressionless, but this news was horrifying. "Rigsby said she said no?" he asked, swallowing hard.

Rigsby nodded. "_She_ didn't want to leave the team." Here he shot Jane an angry Look; his being over two hundred pounds of muscle helped with intimidation too. "Unlike some people, who seem to think that we're just accessories to whatever whims they decide to pursue." Cho --- solemn Cho --- glared at Jane. His face actually moved. If Jane weren't feeling so anxious about all the anger in the room being directed at him, he might have commented on it.

"Hey," Jane started, "you guys don't---"

Just then Lisbon burst through, storming straight to her office. Van Pelt called a "good morning" to her boss but received no response. She gave Jane a Look. "That's what she's been like for a month," she snapped at him. "It's all _your_ fault."

"_My_ fault?" Jane demanded in disbelief, his mask forgotten. "How exactly is it _my _fault?"

Cho stared at him. "Seriously, Jane."

"He must have lost his touch, staying at home all the time for a month," Rigsby whispered. Van Pelt stifled a laugh.

Jane gave him a Look. (A lot of those seemed to be being exchanged right then.) "I'm right here. I can hear you."

Rigsby shrugged, looking quite unrepentant. "Come on, man. You can't just waltz in here whenever you want and decide you still want to be fr – uh – part of the team." Cho and Van Pelt nodded in hard agreement.

Jane was by this time, as one could imagine, feeling quite unloved. "I was just checking up. Seeing how you all were doing. Y— you know." Since when had he been so uncomfortable he'd _stammered_?

Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt exchanged glances. Then Cho spoke for them all. "We're all good. Obviously. You've done your little job. You can go on home now."

"But what about Lisbon?" Jane asked in what, if it were anyone else, would have been called a desperate tone.

As if magically summoned, Lisbon came out of her office. Her face was hard, drawn. Jane was immediately distressed.

"Cho, I have a form that says you have a physical aptitude exam tomorrow," said Lisbon shortly, dropping said form onto Cho's desk. "Make sure you're available if we get a ca—" Her sentence was cut short when she noticed Jane sitting on the couch. Her mouth closed into a hard line, and she whirled around and stormed straight back into her office. Jane leapt up and ran after her.

"Lisbon!" he called. "Lisboooon! Ow." He had run into the newly closed and locked door. He rubbed his head sadly and then continued to call for her. "Lisbon! Come on. I want to talk to you." Silence from the other side. "Okay, fine. But I'll have you know that I'm going to stand here and yell bad knock-knock jokes until you let me in." More silence. Apparently she thought he was bluffing. "Okaaay," he sighed. "Knock-knock . . . that's where you say, 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . Lisbon, you're supposed to say, 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Banana . . . 'Banana who?' . . . Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Orange . . . 'Orange who?' . . . Orange you glad I didn't say banana?"

He paused, waiting for some reaction. He didn't get one. So he started on his next one. "Knock-knock . . . 'Who's there?' . . . Scold . . . 'Scold who?' . . . 'S cold out here, let me in!" Again he waited for her to do something. Nothing. "Knock-knock . . ." Then there was a clicking in the door and an arm reached out and pulled him inside the office.

Jane grinned at Lisbon. "I'm glad you gave in. They only get worse from there." Seeing her very much icy expression, his smile slipped. "What? I warned you before I started them!"  
Lisbon finally decided she would speak to him. "Warn me? _Warn_ me? I stuck my stupid neck out for you for the umpteenth time — not even just to get a case. I saved your _life_! And what do I —_we_— get for that? My team is suddenly consultant-less, and we don't hear from you for a month! I think if anyone is going to be doing the _warning_, you pain in the butt, it's going to be me." She slammed an open desk drawer closed. She had held in her anger for a month, but seeing Jane in her office, acting as though he had never left, just burst the dam. She felt a new sense of compassion for the camel with the straw on its back.

Jane's slipping smile disappeared completely. "Look, Lisbon . . ."

"No, _you_ look," Lisbon hissed. "You cannot just run off and leave us in the dust whenever you feel like it. That is not teamwork. That is not friendship. That is not even trust. You don't trust us, and therefore, we don't trust you." She glared at him and, her fury suddenly faded into fatigue, turned to her file cabinet. "You can go now."

Jane was silent. He stood there, processing her words. He had had some notion that they would react like this, but . . . he hadn't believed it. He hadn't _wanted_ to believe it. But her angry words hung in the air like a cloud. He wrestled with his options: Option A and Option B. Option A, to walk out. That would pretty much spell the end of any hope he entertained about rekindling these friendships. Option B, to stay. His small sense of self-preservation was warring against this option, but if he stayed, he might (with any luck) be able to win Lisbon back over – oh, and the rest of them, too, of course. After some debate, he chose Option B. He had never been huge on luck, but it was his only hope right now.

Jane slowly approached Lisbon, whose back was still to him. He stopped far enough so she wouldn't feel violated, but close enough that he could still project intimacy. "I'm sorry," he said honestly, his voice raw. "I . . . I hadn't thought about how my actions would affect the rest of you. I've been selfish and childish, and I want to stop it," he added, using the very words she had spoken to him months ago.

Lisbon turned around to face him, a stubborn look on her face. "That's great. But what about a week from now, when you decide you're going to go run off and 'follow a hunch'? You don't trust me enough to even tell me the truth, and that's why I can't trust you. Like I said, it all boils down to trust. I can't trust you because you don't trust me." Both pairs of eyes were looking watery at this statement. Neither wanted it to be true.

Jane closed the distance between them and enveloped her in a hug, burying his face in her dark hair. "I trust you," he insisted, his words muffled from her hair. "I do. I swear to you, I trust you."

Lisbon had begun faintly pushing him off upon initial contact, but she gave up. Instead she took the opportunity to briefly return the hug, then to swiftly twist out of it. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, hoping to erase all signs of having teared up. "All right, all right," she sighed. And for the first time in a month, the corners of her lips lifted into a smile.

Jane, of course, was immensely pleased by this development, and moved to hug her again, but she held up her hands.

"Business first," she declared. "Are you planning on rejoining the team, or is this all just part of your 'moving on'?"

Jane winced; she knew him too well. "Honestly, at first it was," he admitted.

Lisbon raised an eyebrow, silently asking, "'At first'?"

He went on, "But as I saw the rest of them again . . . I wasn't so sure. And then I talked to you, and I decided that moving on wasn't worth it without other people to share it with." She nodded, keeping a carefully blank expression. "So, really," he murmured, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, "in the end, when it mattered, I did think of you." Her eyes widened, blankness forgotten, as she recalled her last request to him.

"Of . . .?"

"Of _you_." Emphasis on her. That was the way it had always been, really.

Lisbon took a slow breath, smiling again as she processed this new information. "Well," she suggested, "maybe now we can go let our coworkers know they're allowed to play nice with you again?"

Jane let out a chuckle. "Sure, that'd be nice." He held out his arm to her. She blushed and declined, citing "rules" about in-department PDA. He put the flirting on hold as they reentered the bullpen (both in a much better mood than when they had left it). She wouldn't admit it, but she so wanted him.

But for now, he was content with the way things were.

Peace was so good.

AWWWSIMONBAKERISADORABLEWITHBABIES

A/N: Just as a reminder: R&R and PM me with prompts! Thanks much. Oh, have a great day! :-)


	11. Pickup Lines

**A/N:** Hi, all! Sorry I've been so busy. Here's the long-awaited update! (But first, my customary rant.) We went out for dinner, and a guy named Patrick was going table-to-table doing magic tricks. Ironic, right? He was almost as clever as our Patrick Jane, but not nearly as cute. :) This fic was inspired by the guys in my class, who have an odd obsession with pickup lines. Sometimes they're funny, sometimes they're just weird. Alert the media, I know. :) And yes, for the record, I have turned into one of those people who put smiley-faces after everything. I think I've just become more smiley in general, but it annoys even me. :P

**Disclaimer:** I own a 100% percentage of exactly nothing. As one of my classmates would say, cry me a river, build me a bridge, and get over it.

**Fair warning:** Time is short these days. If you want quick updates, REVIEW! And if you don't, review anyways. I don't know how badly I fail until you tell me.

**Also!** . . . Just so you all know . . . I like prompts! Feel free to review or PM me a storyline prompt. I will give you credit if I use it (and cookies whether or not I do)!

It was a bright spring morning at the CBI. The world was green, little flowers were poking up in their beds, and everyone was just in a great mood.

Well, almost everyone.

At 6:08, Teresa Lisbon stormed out of the elevator and into her office, without so much as a hello to her team. Rigsby only blinked, half a doughnut shoved in his mouth. Van Pelt frowned in concern. Cho, of course, looked the same as always.

A moment too late, Patrick Jane stepped into the squadroom, sipping a cup of tea. His teammates felt it was their duty to warn him of the thundercloud over Lisbon's head.

"Lisbon is in one of _those_ moods today," Rigsby confided to the consultant, having swallowed his breakfast. "Out of the elevator and, bam! Into her office. Door slammed and everything. I'd stay out of her way if I were you."

"What could you mean?" asked Jane brightly. (That was one good cup of tea.)

"We mean she doesn't need any of your crap today," Cho deadpanned.

"Crap?" Jane was wounded. "I don't do 'crap.' My plans are always excellent."

The other three snorted in sync.

"Except for when you get punched by someone you offended," Van Pelt pointed out.

"Or get locked in a barn that some crazy guy is about to burn down," Rigsby laughed.

"Or get held at gunpoint," Cho continued. "Which, you know –"

"Okay, I see your point," Jane interrupted hastily, but as soon as they'd gone back to work, he sneaked over to Lisbon's office door. To show how caring and respectful he was, he actually knocked.

"Go away, Jane," she snapped from inside. She must have seen him through a window – or else he was just getting predictable.

So, caring and respectful weren't working. He opened the door himself, well aware that she couldn't lock it except under extreme circumstances. "Good morning, Lisbon," he greeted her.

Lisbon only gripped her pencil more tightly as she filled out paperwork.

Jane frowned. Clearly he needed to step it up. He smiled again, ever the amiable magician. "I have something for you." Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out a hot (but not too hot) cup of coffee. He set it on her desk and waited for a response.

Lisbon glanced up briefly as she reached for the coffee. "Thanks," she said unwillingly, taking a careful sip.

It was clear that she wanted him to leave, but he easily took a seat on the couch. "So," he prompted, "will you tell me why you're grumpy, or will I have to read your mind?"

Lisbon looked up in alarm. "Stay out of my mind," she warned him seriously.

Jane filed that away for later analysis, but for now he just pretended to probe her thoughts. "Oh, Lisbon, you shouldn't think such things," he teased.

Her hand twitched like she wanted to hold her head. As it was, she settled for a steady glare as she threw a pencil at him.

Unfortunately, the missile hit its target. Jane rubbed the sore spot on his head, grimacing. It would be tender for days. "This would be a lot less painful for both of us if you'd just be open with me."

Lisbon took another sip of coffee, looking for all the world like she was never going to share, when finally she muttered, "Joey Rincaff from Narcotics hit on me."

It took all of Jane's self-control not to spit of the tea he'd just tasted. "Rincaff?" he confirmed. "Isn't he married?"

"Minor detail," said Lisbon sourly.

How sickening. "Tell me he at least had some class about it."

Lisbon's expression was reminiscent of Cho's. "He asked me if it hurt when I fell from heaven."

Jane rolled his eyes, grinning at the sophomoric approach. "And how did you respond to Mr. Rincaff's advances?"

Lisbon turned a slight shade of pink. "I nearly broke his inappropriately placed hand and threatened to file harassment charges."

Frowning, Jane adjusted his position, reverting to Teacher Mode. "Lisbon," he chided, "you'll hardly attract men like that."

"If the only kind of men I attract are the ones who use pickup lines, then so be it," Lisbon huffed, turning back to her paperwork.

He waved this aside. "No, no, Lisbon. You have to flirt properly. And please, for your own sake, never resort to pickup lines."

She looked up at this, irritated. "This is inappropriate on so many different levels. You might want to leave while you're behind."

Jane backed off, hands up innocently. Some battles were won by retreating.

When Lisbon came back form her lunch break, she sat down at her desk only to notice a neatly folded piece of paper with her name on the front. She opened it suspiciously. In the middle of the sheet of paper, in Jane's precise handwriting, it said . . . "Are you lost? Because heaven's a long way from here."

Jane, who was resting on the couch, heard his boss's door open, and he opened his eyes just in time to see her pitch a ball of crumpled-up paper right at his face. It didn't miss, of course, but he couldn't help but grin. A new hobby had been formed.

For the rest of the week, Jane began leaving Lisbon random pickup lines – the cheesier, the better. It amused him, and after a few notes, he could see that it amused her too. Not that she would admit it. She always responded with a benign glare and an ostentatious disposal of the note, but a smile would be quirking at her lips. And although he wouldn't admit it either, it pleased him that he was the only one who could do that.

The only one, that is, until one evening Jane left work and found some guy from Surveillance chatting up Lisbon. He was angry, although he wasn't sure why, and he inched forward in the shadows to hear what they were saying.

"Are your feet tired?" the Surveillance guy – his name was James Harris or something – asked. "Because you've been running through my mind all day."

And then – the nerve of it all! – Lisbon smiled! And (Jane had to convince himself she didn't realize she was encouraging Harris) she started playing with her hair! Really, this was Lisbon. She couldn't even look at Jane without blushing, and now Harris-something was coming onto her? And she wasn't threatening anything? Jane felt slightly sick, but before his mind could stop him, he instinctively stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Lisbon's shoulders. Openly territorial behavior.

As Jane had expected, Harris immediately deflated. "Hello, Mr. Jane," he said carefully.

Jane wasn't playing. "You should be getting home."

Harris knew when he was beat. With a graceless nod to Lisbon and Jane, he found his car and made a quick escape. An awkward moment hung in the air before Jane removed his arm from Lisbon's shoulders.

"What was that?" she frowned at him.

Jane stared at her, saying nothing. Then he kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I can't stand guys who use pickup lines. Especially," he added quietly, "on you."

Lisbon blushed.


	12. Feather's Touch

**A/N:** Wow, two fics up in as many weeks! You guys better know I love you. :D For anyone reading this who also reads my Artemis Fowl fanfics, I'm on spring break vacation in the same place I was when I wrote most of "The Little LEPrecon." _This_ ficlet was inspired by a painting in the house I'm in. As always, feel free to share prompts, and pretty, pretty please R&R!

**Disclaimer:** Just. . . just meh. No, I don't think I own anything related to the Mentalist. If you think I do. . . maybe we should have a little _chat_. Do you know something I don't?

Another early morning at work for the CBI Serious Crimes unit. Unfortunately, this was even earlier than usual, because they had been sent out at five o'clock (in the morning!) to get first look at a crime scene. So Lisbon, Jane, Rigsby, and Van Pelt were out tramping through a forest in the middle of nowhere, while Cho stayed behind to man the phones and act as chief information-getter. (Van Pelt was secretly elated that she hadn't been the one to do it, and frankly Rigsby wasn't too sad either.)

The drive was long, and everyone was yawning as they finally clambered out of the van. Even Lisbon, who was clutching her travel mug of coffee like a life preserver, looked like she wanted nothing better than to lie down for a good nap. Jane was used to a lack of sleep, so he just ignored it and decided he would have to bolster everyone's spirits.

"Smell that morning air?" he prompted Van Pelt. "That is the scent of _no smog_. Isn't it beautiful?" She made an odd grunting-moaning sound that basically told him to bugger off. Ever accommodating, he transferred his attentions to Rigsby. "Hey, my good man, how about a good spritz of caffeinated air to get you going?"

"They make that?" Rigsby slurred, still half-asleep from the car ride. "C'n I have some?"

"Of course," Jane lied, sending a short spray of plain old water his way.

Rigsby inhaled, waited intently, and then deflated. "It didn't help," he said sadly.

"That's because there's no such thing as _caffeinated air," _snarked Lisbon, who was always at her most ungracious in the early morning.

"Lisbon, you're missing the point," Jane chided. "It's called a placebo. If our good friend Rigsby _believes _that his air has been caffeinated, then it feels as though it _has_."

"So all we have to do is believe?" Lisbon muttered sarcastically.

Jane grinned. "Exactly."

Lisbon snorted, and even Rigsby looked suspicious. Van Pelt just marched gaily on, glad she wasn't at the office. Jane followed on the outskirts of their small group, occasionally pointing out a blooming spring flower or a set of animal tracks. None of this, of course, helped get him in their good graces, and once they reached the crime scene, the other three were ready to fall asleep, or strangle Jane, or both.

Lisbon stalked around the body, calling out information and asking for it from the others. "Caucasian male, early thirties. Three knife wounds, and it doesn't look like a mugging. Some jogger found the body. Thoughts, Jane?"

Jane was quiet for a moment, thinking serenely. Then he suggested, "Midmorning naps all around?"

"About the _case_, Jane," Lisbon snapped.

"Maybe just for you," Jane amended under his breath.

"Look, the faster you tell us who did it, the faster we can go home," Rigsby said as he knelt beside the victim, searching the body for identification. "Ah, found something. Driver's license – Martin Kaleb."

"Anything about next of kin?" Van Pelt asked. "We should let them know as soon as possible."

"Call Cho," Lisbon directed. "Have him look Kaleb up on the databases, get you a phone number or address. You can call the family later today."

"Like, when the rest of the world is actually awake," Rigsby couldn't help adding under his breath.

Jane only smiled, enjoying the scene. He had somehow managed to bring a cup of tea for himself, which he was now sipping classily. Everything would be all right, despite Rigsby's and Lisbon's pessimism. He was already planning a way to get his teammates out of their we-don't-do-mornings routine.

Lisbon was pacing a few yards from the body. Her coffee was gone, and it was as if she hadn't drunk it. _Physical activity gets the blood moving,_ she told herself. _Anything to wake myself up. _But even that wasn't working well. She'd slept poorly that night, when she'd finally gotten to sleep at all, and now she was rewarded with an obscenely early workday. Not like there was much to do – they'd blocked off the area, taken pictures, and at the moment were looking for anything that forensics might find helpful.

"Lisbon!" Jane's too-perky voice came from over by a twisted old tree. He was pointing at it. "Come here; I found something."

She made her way over to him. "What is it?"

He gestured down, and then up. "You have to get down here to see it."

Suspicious, but not willing to risk missing a clue, she warily lowered herself onto the ground. She squinted at the consultant, looking for any signs of mischief, but he seemed sincere enough.

"No, Lisbon." Jane squatted down in front of her, careful not to dirty his three-piece suit. She was sitting up straight, glancing around for whatever it was he had seen. "Lean back." Gently, gently, he pushed on her shoulders until her back was resting on the tree.

Lisbon immediately felt the call of sleep and began resisting. "Jane, let me up," she commanded, but he was hardly about to give up now.

"Hear the birds?" he asked quietly, his voice calm and easy. "They're calling to each other. I'm sure you don't wake up to that in the city."

She was falling, and she knew it. As a last resort. . . "Jane, come on," she mumbled, trying to sound authoritative.

"And the sun is so warm," he continued serenely. "Can you feel it on your skin? It's soft and warm, like a blanket. Isn't it?" He hummed a few lines from a child's lullaby.

And that was it. Lisbon's eyes closed, and she relaxed against the tree. Jane stood up again, careful not to wake his boss. He would entertain the others for a while and let her have some rest. Mentally he shook his head. She should know better than to skip on sleep, purposefully or not. All that coffee wasn't helping, either.

An hour or two passed before the local police and the forensics people had all showed up. As soon as Jane heard the nearby noises of the men tromping through the forest, he finished his current magic trick (they drove Rigsby insane when he couldn't figure them out) and picked his way over to Lisbon's napping area.

Again he got down to her level. "Lisbon," he said brightly, "time to wake up."

She whispered something in her sleep but didn't wake.

The men were getting closer. "Lisbon," he repeated urgently. "Wake up!" He tapped her on the shoulder sharply, to no avail. "Lisbon!"

Her boss would have both their skins if she was found asleep at a crime scene. He looked around for something, anything, to help him out. His gaze landed on a feather lying on the grass; he picked it up. Hoping there weren't any diseases on it, he lifted it to the brunette's face.

"Time to wake up," he declared, and brushed it against her cheek.

Lisbon sneezed.

He frowned but didn't stop; the men were practically there. "Wake up, wake up, good morning," he said.

Her lips twitched into a smile, and she reached up to swipe away the bothersome feather. Finally she blinked a few times, now at least partly awake.

Jane reached out to help her up. "The rest of the Justice League is almost here," he told her. "Best not for them to find you napping."

She stood, brushing off dirt. "You're lucky I'm in a decent mood now."

"Midmorning naps should be mandated," he agreed.

She smiled slightly. "If only," she said, and she walked over to debate jurisdiction and time of death with the men who'd just found her team.

_If only_, repeated Jane internally as he followed her down the forest path. _If only._


End file.
